Sargon
by Cham of the Swiftcurrents
Summary: This story is set in a slightly more american setting. Bergle Stouttail, a young otter, leaves his home to go questing, as all otters before him have. At the same time a female slave wolf, who's only name had ever been Mirim, plans a daring escape by sea.
1. Default Chapter

Please note: I do not own the Redwall series, and do not claim to. Any reference to real people or real events is strictly coincidental.

Sargon 

'List to me, oh weary traveler

And I'll tell you of a golden time

Far off through the years,

O'er hill, o'er dale, o'er pine.

Of a young creature, who lived in strife

And her faith companion of air

When their hearts were innocent at best,

Before the wars made them aware.

Hold twixt the fire and trees below

Watch for the devil tainted sea

These young creatures, life's what they sought,

Could only hold the key.'


	2. Chapter 1

Part 1: Tarpin

1

"Oooooh A sailor's life for me!

Oooooh Friend of the wind and sea!

Rovin' an' wand'rin,'

The world is what I own,

Defendin' and fightin,'

Is ev'rythin' I knows!

Oooooh a-sailin's not for me!

Oooooh A rover's what I'll be!

Feastin' and cookin'

Ain't e'er 'alf bad sports

Washin' an' wipin'

Eatin' ain't what it's worth!

Oooooh Won't eat your crummy pie!

Oooooh I'll go away an' die!"

The sun shone brightly on the young otter as the last notes of his song died away on the summer air. Shaking his head, he muttered to himself, "I can do much better'n that. Sailin' to eatin?' methinks the food would 'ave to be the best in the lan' to stop sailin' for it."

The otter reclined onto his back on the peak of the steep grassy hill where he was perched. He watched the clouds as they floated by, pointing out shapes to no one in particular, "Look, there's a tree. And o'er there's a slice o' me good mum's apple pie." At the mention of food he sat bolt upright, realizing that he had not had anything substantial to eat in several days.

He had left his parents' den three nights ago, with only a small supply of rations and his trusty walking stave. His parents had been sad to see him go, but they knew all otters had to leave sometimes and satisfy their sense of adventure. This young otter was no different. He had almost shed tears for his family, but he'd noticed and imitated his father's strong face. As he left, his mother added a fine green beret to his head and said to him, "Bergle, always be careful and try your best. Be true of heart and honest to your friends. Never forget your family, and promise me that you'll return home someday."

With those few words, Bergle Stouttail had left the comfort and safety of his family's den to go off questing and adventuring. He was a joyous sight for his parents to watch as he tramped away, improvising a ballad as he went:

"Fare thee well, toodle-doo

Me ol' mum, I'll miss you,

Don't tell dad that I went away,

An' remember,

I'll be back again someday."

It had been a hard three days on Bergle, it being his first time alone away from home. On the first night of his adventure he had nervously eaten most of the food that had been packed for him. The next morning he awoke to find the rest covered in ants, since in his inexperience he had not even repacked it.

Two days later, he was weary, tired, but not broken. Although his fate seemed less than well written, he smiled incessantly and often broke into spontaneous song, aiming insults at his predicament.

He was several leagues south now from his home on the northeast shores. Bergle had meandered inland slightly in order to escape the biting winds that flowed across the sea, and he was surprised to find that on the endless plains and hills where he was, a gentle breeze blew from the south, carrying with it warmth and hope.

But still he was hungry and weary. He knew he could not sit on the hill and bask in the sun all day, but he was getting tired of fruitlessly searching the hills for anything edible; twice he had been content to munch on the stalk of grass which grew under his marching paws.

Rising, he surveyed what lay ahead from his vantage point atop the steep hill. Bergle could not believe his eyes. There, at the bottom of the very hill where he stood sat two figures, but this was not what caught his attention. Between them they carried two haversacks of edible nuts, berries, even some cheeses! He was saved!

Grabbing his stave from the ground, Bergle raced down the incline, whooping aloud thanks to the luck that had bestowed these two travelers upon them.

Garn the beaver and his traveling companion, a red fox named Buckthorn, were tired of walking. After marching a full day, their paws were sore and they were glad to stop and rest. Each had pulled out their rations and had set about preparing a meal when Bergle charged into their camp.

Chaos reigned, as the first thought that crossed the travelers minds was that they were under attack. Acting swiftly, Garn tripped up the young otter with his hefty tail, sending Bergle flying into their supplies.

Not having gotten a good glance at their supposed assailant, each of the travelers unsheathed their blades. Buckthorn's was a wickedly curved sword, which he had taken from a pirate far on the south shores. Garn drew from his back a huge double-sided battle sword. Holding it aloft, he allowed it to swing down and around; he leaped over the blade and was about to swing a blow at the otter when Buckthorn cried out, "Wait, Garn! 'Tis a friend!"

The light of battle faded from the beaver's eyes as he kicked one of the ration-packs from the otter's body. He replied to Buckthorn in a deep southern drawl, "Ah, so 'tis. But what's an otter doin' so far south? I was sure they all live up in that there northeast area, where the coast's all rocky."

The young otter climbed laboriously to his paws, shaking off another one of the travelers' ration-packs, "Aye, sir. I did come from up thereabouts. I'm a wand'rer now, left 'ome three days ago. I was wond'rin' sirs, er, could you spare a bite to a starvin' travler?"

Buckthorn snorted, "Who taught you to travel, young feller m'lad? You haven't a bite of grub or a drop of water to you your name. I'm surprised you made it this far."

The hefty beaver summed up his companion's statement with a friendly pat, "Sit down, and we'll soon have supper ready between the three of us."

The three creatures sat, the two veteran travelers readying supplies while Bergle attempted to make a fire. Twice he nearly set is whiskers ablaze, and finally the fox came to his aid, striking up the fire with nary an effort.

Bergle sat back as Garn set about the task of actually preparing the supper. He laid out an assortment of berries, obviously preparing a sort of soup. The young otter watched as he filled a small collapsible cauldron with water and set it to boil, adding herbs and berries.

Buckthorn leaned forward and offered the young otter his paw, "Accept my apologies. We never properly introduced ourselves. I'm Buckthorn Wayfarer, and that over-sized fish cook making the stew is Garnalderberry Rukasor, although it's much easier to say if you just call him Garn."

Accepting the paw gratefully, the young otter smiled a Buckthorn, "Well, my name's Bergle Stouttail, of a den about three days Nor'ast of 'ere. I thank you both very much for your kindness an' 'ospitality."

The beaver spoke up, "Dun mention it, laddo. You're actually fairly lucky; Buck an' I weren't bound to leave that great Fort Kalmirt until tomorrow, but we figured it would be a good start if we headed out a day early. You see, we're o a deadline to make the southeast shore in just a couple of days. We're sort of messengering for the leader of the army garrisoned at Kalmirt. Actually, Buck's brother, if you could believe his parents would have another after seeing what a sight he is."

Here Buckthorn cut in, glaring coldly at the beaver, "At least my rear end doesn't look like a great tree fell on it. Anyway Bergle, my brother requires the use of a great sea-faring ship, which can only be found at Tarpin, a great village on the south sea. Y'see Aarock, my brother, has heard that far across the great south waters lies terror and oppression. When he was just young, Aarock swore an oath to our dying father that he would always protect those creatures that are unable to protect themselves.

"Aarock began by scouring the whole of our east coast for creatures who were seeking only to harm others for their gain. He's faced many great, evil fighters, and bested them each in combat. After clearing the east-lands of all evil doers, he built fort Kalmirt to stand vigil over this area."

The young otter gaped wide-eyed at the fox as he finished his tale. "I've always been told about Kalmirt. I've ne'er actually met anyone from there either! I don't suppose…" Bergle trailed off.

Garn smirked, "I suppose you'd like to go to Tarpin with us?"

"Oh, could I sirs? I wouldn't be an 'indrance!"

"I suppose we can't turn down someone so inclined to go with us," the fox said, "Although, I must warn you, it will be fraught with danger. There are deserts, swamps, and even the occasional band of bad guys. I hope you're proficient with yon walking stick."

"I am, sir. I can knock a big ol' bug out of the air with my stave." Bergle stood up and gave the two onlookers a quick show of twirling and slicing the air with his beech wood stick. When he was finished, he sat back down to his soup, which had been served during is friends' story.

The fox and the beaver were taken slightly aback. Never in all their years of wandering had they seen a creature who could wield a stave like young Bergle. They each nodded to the otter, who sat beaming after his display.

Buckthorn spoke up, "Well, Berg, old Stouttail of a lad indeed. You'll do nicely to add to our traveling ensemble. Though I must say, if you require something of an official ceremony, it'll have to wait until morning." He laid down by the smoldering fire, turning his gaze skyward, "Yup. There's not much we can do tonight, pals. Just lay back and take it all in. We'll get a fresh start southward in the morning."

The high summer moon watched the three figures as they lay down for a well-earned night's rest. The starts twinkled gently over the travelers' sleeping bodies, standing watch for the night Somewhere nearby a grasshopper chirruped, filling the night air with its song of the new day that was to come.


	3. Chapter 2

2

Far to the south of the travelers, past their destination of Tarpin, and even across the vast south sea, an pair of eyes fixed their gaze on those same stars. These eyes, however, were unlike the one of Garn, Buckthorn, or Bergle; these menacing orbs were knives to anyone who made visual contact with them. 

They belonged to a powerful evil creature, a great coyote from the distant northwest lands. He stood a full head taller than any of his soldiers, an assortment of wicked raccoons, vile bobcats, and even a few cougars- his captains.

The coyote was Agrex Ulbad, a viscous fighter with no mercy. He carried two crudely shaped long knives, good for skinning and maiming, but in general they were used for just one purpose: killing. Agrex reveled in it; when one of his followers did not live up to his standards, he took joy in letting them die slowly beneath his blades.

Agrex Ulbad was undeniably the king of his land; no one to ever resist him was left alive. He ruled his kingdom, called Sargon, with an iron fist. The creatures that were not in his army toiled his fields all day in order to feed them. He had his own personal slaves as well. The old royal family and a few of their advisors made up Agrex's servants. They were all that was left from when the coyote and his horde had swooped in and taken castle Billden from them.

The castle was Agrex Ulbad's new pride and joy. It was the perfect fortress. To the front was a great moat with a giant oaken drawbridge. The moat was dug clean out of the earth, and ran along in an straight line until each end met the edge of the peninsula and spilled over the side in two rushing waterfalls to the sea below. On the other three sides was a perilous cliff face, the bottom of which met the ocean head on in a clash of noise and foam.

Agrex turned his eyes from the stars to the window overlooking his parade grounds. There, in its center stood a magnificent marble carving, larger than almost any other structure within Billden's walls. Depicted by the chiseled stone was a brilliant scene: and otter, fist clenched and held up to the sky, surrounded by other creatures, climbing eternally up his mighty frame. This otter had once been the hero of Agrex's new kingdom; he had freed it from the oppression and tyranny that had once gripped the land like ice.

The coyote allowed himself a small smile' he had great plans for this otter state. Namely, turning it into his own likeness, a statue of the great Agrex Ulbad, most powerful ruler of all Sargon!

Two creatures sat awake in the slave pen of Billden they were each bedraggled, beaten and starved, but bravery is a strange and fickle thing- it rises from strife. They were planning an escape!

One of them, a young wolf, faced her companion, a beaver. She spoke to him softly, her voice shaky and barely audible because of the fear that they would be found out, "You sent the hawk to go and find my brother outside, right? If he can be found he'll bring his boat, I know he will. If Derbatrol brings back good news, then we must put our plan into action."

Her companion, Ainor, nodded grimly, replying in his deep, hoarse voice, "Aye, Mirim, but if that hawk doesn't bring your brother, then we're sunk!"

Mirim's face held a look of hate as she replied, "I'd sooner throw myself from Billden's walls than slave for that evil coyote another day! Taking my chances in the sea would be better than the death he brings."

"Shaddup in there, or ye'll force me to bring the cane about yer sorry hides!" A voice from outside called, silencing them both.

Having ended the murmuring in the slave quarters, a raccoon named Proan, the night watch to whom the voice belonged, turned and walked away toward the barracks, muttering under his breath. He would not be back again that night.

In fact, the raccoon never even made it to the barracks. Halfway across the parade grounds, his life was snuffed out as a roaring blur from the sky tore into his unsuspecting form. In a flash it was over, and his attacker, the red-tailed hawk called Derbatrol flew silently over to the slave pen.

Agrex Ulbad's two golden eyes were the only witnesses to what happened next. The hawk ripped apart the ropes that held the door to the cage shut tight. Mirim and Ainor were the picture of surprise as the great bird of prey poked his head, accented with fearsome gray eyes and a wickedly curved beak, through the hole where the door had been. He screeched, "Khreeeee! I bring news from Erb, you must leave this night or he will be unable to help!"

The wolf locked eyes with the beaver, "Well, Ainor, our plans must be sped up a little. Are you still game for it?"

"Mirim, you couldn't count me out of it."

The pair raced from the pen as Derbatrol wheeled off into the dark sky, calling down to them, "Kree-eee! I will tell your brother you come!"

By now the din had awakened the entire castle. The other slaves stood timidly at the exit of the compound and watched as the two escapers raced across the grounds toward the south wall. The coyote's horde could not yet fully comprehend the situation. Many of them simply milled about, until the voice of the coyote cried out to them from his window, "Don't just stand about, you useless lot. Get after them! I want them alive!"

Swiftly his troops moved into action. The raccoons, being fleet of paw, quickly scaled the walls to the ramparts, where they raced along after the escapers, leaving the bobcats to give chase on the ground. Each horde member had been trained to Agrex's savagery; they knew that if they failed to catch the slaves it might be their own anguished cries that echoed off the castle walls.

Mirim and Ainor had made the south wall steps. Mustering all their energy, they sprinted up them, now closely pursued by some of the bobcat front runners. With a cry of dismay, Ainor tripped on his bulky tail. Like lightning, his pursuers pounced on him, pinning him to the ground. He and the wolf locked eyes as the cats pummeled him into unconsciousness. Before the sea of darkness overwhelmed him, he croaked to Mirim, "Jump."

The wolf knew it was her last chance. Silently whispering goodbye to her faithful beaver friend, she raced towards the battlements. In front of her a raccoon suddenly appeared a grim look of determination stamped on his face.

Mirim did not have a chance to think before reacting. Her arms closed about the raccoon as she ran into him in a tackle. They continued on to the edge locked together, at which point she released him, sending the luckless creature over the edge. He hit the side of the cliff face with a sickening crunch and was lost to sight forever in the waves below.

The young wolf chanced a glance behind her at Agrex's hoard, which stared dumbly back at her. This was it. She gathered up all her courage and threw herself from the battlements, away from the cliff face, towards the boiling torrents of water that raced up to meet her.

The breath was torn from her as she hit the roaring sea, and her whole world went dark, engulfed in the cold, unforgiving water.


End file.
